Science lab (TW)

It’s the 21st century.

We are now a generation that have been exposed to the idea of prioritising ‘self love’.

And I believe it is very important. But no one teaches or tells you how to turn hate into love.

I grew up in a time that emotions and crying and ‘acting like a little girl’ was a prominent and common term.

Growing up in a very strong female led household it has always been a very important idea to me. The idea of being ‘strong’ , we were not taught to highlight emotions or to reach for happiness.

It was disregarded it was important to be successful and strong. Especially as a woman.

As a ‘abuse survivor’ – I hate , despise that term , being categorised into a section of people that are all so different. It is nothing but belittling. And the term survivor in itself – I’m have been and I am surviving – but that is all nothing more or nothing less.

But right now that term helps articulate what I am getting to.

Having that label hanging over you , it’s even more important for me to view myself as ‘strong’ whatever that term means.

I was a 12 year old child psychically and to the world , but in mind I was past my years.

School , secondary school is already hard in its own way, but the whole school talking discussing your life. Your trauma.

Well that was hard.

The one person I confided in had shared my pain in the most evil way – she shared it because a boy she liked , liked me.

She put my pain on display but not out of kindness out of cruelty.

All over social media .

For my fellow class mates and older peers , for my teachers & superiors.

I can still recall being summoned from class into my head of years office to see my mum reading over print out of this public humiliation. I was made to feel dirty.

Shameful.

If I cried , showed any form of weakness a teacher was by my side , either off their own back or the ones that were just doing their job after a concern fellow 12 year old had alerted them of my feelings. It was important to me to not break.

At home . I knew my family were hurting from the backlash. Blame , confusion and pain filled our walls whilst being painted in unrealistic grins and smiles.

At school . I was on show , my feelings , my story.

A kind teacher I shall not name let me sit in his room from time to time , the times I needed to escape.

A girl , I could name but has no relevance.

I remember her vividly.

We went to primary school together too, she was one year my elder but had always intrigued me.

She would also sometime be in this teachers classroom , the science lab.

I watched her , at lunch , and her friends , I observed them from my quiet corner.

Constantly breaking rules , time after time.

One day I observed her talking to her friends about pain.

I watched the way she dismantled a pencil sharpener from her pencil case.

I recited the motions in my mind.

Why would she do such a thing ?

I then watched her swiftly swipe the tiny ,half rusty – half shiny ,but apparent blade across her arm. I watched her arm slice and the blood rise.

That memory stayed safe in my mind , stays safe in my mind.

Later than day I arrived home… alone in my room with nothing but my thoughts , I too reached for my pencil case.

I recited her actions.

It hurt , but it also felt good. I watched the thin runny red substance form droplets and fall to my wooden floor boards.

It left me confused but happy, the juxtapose in emotions left me overwhelmed but at-least I could feel something. I felt alive rather than surviving by a thread.

I never needed to cry once I had my new best friend in my arms, in my control , in my power. And I wasn’t weak for doing so , in my mind I believed it made me strong as the only person that could feel the consequences to my actions was myself.

In this moment I believed I could protect the world from me… From my weakness. From my pain. From my shame. From my broken mind and body.

I rolled my sleeves down and made my way downstairs due to the calls of my mother alerting me dinner was ready. In that moment I felt strong and in control – I was not crying like a little girl , I was bleeding like a strong man.

This was my new secret.

My new routine.

Not for the world.

Not for others.

Not open to judgement.

But this was something for me , something only me and my body knew about.

And for that reason I am so protective of you my little habit , so committed & so loving to you .

Because you in a dark way saved me when no one else could. You and only you allowed me to breathe whilst being suffocated.

Now I need someone/ something to teach me how to hate the reason I was able to love myself. This character needs to be eliminated , but I know I’m going to have to teach myself how to breath without assistance.

…And I will be lying if I said I wasn’t scared but to commit to the idea of ‘self love’ , my oxygen tank needs to be switched off.

I am nothing but aware .

And willing.

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